manalive-第23部分

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place　the　smoke　was　of　an　awful　opaque　ivory　yellow；　such　as　might
be　the　disembodiment　of　one　of　their　old；　leprous　waxen　images。
But　right　across　it　ran　a　line　of　bright；　sinister；　sulphurous　green；
as　clear　and　crooked　as　Arabic〃

Mr。　Moses　Gould　once　more　attempted　the　arrest　of　the　'bus。
He　was　understood　to　suggest　that　the　reader　should　shorten
the　proceedings　by　leaving　out　all　the　adjectives。　　Mrs。　Duke；
who　had　woken　up；　observed　that　she　was　sure　it　was　all　very　nice；
and　the　decision　was　duly　noted　down　by　Moses　with　a　blue；
and　by　Michael　with　a　red；　pencil。　　Inglewood　then　resumed
the　reading　of　the　document。


〃Then　I　read　the　writing　of　the　smoke。　　Smoke　was　like　the　modern
city　that　makes　it；　it　is　not　always　dull　or　ugly；　but　it　is　always
wicked　and　vain。

〃Modern　England　was　like　a　cloud　of　smoke；　it　could　carry
all　colours；　but　it　could　leave　nothing　but　a　stain。　　It　was　our
weakness　and　not　our　strength　that　put　a　rich　refuse　in　the　sky。
These　were　the　rivers　of　our　vanity　pouring　into　the　void。
We　had　taken　the　sacred　circle　of　the　whirlwind；　and　looked　down　on　it；
and　seen　it　as　a　whirlpool。　　And　then　we　had　used　it　as　a　sink。
It　was　a　good　symbol　of　the　mutiny　in　my　own　mind。
Only　our　worst　things　were　going　to　heaven。　　Only　our　criminals
could　still　ascend　like　angels。

〃As　my　brain　was　blinded　with　such　emotions；　my　guide　stopped
by　one　of　the　big　chimney…pots　that　stood　at　the　regular　intervals
like　lamp…posts　along　that　uplifted　and　aerial　highway。
He　put　his　heavy　hand　upon　it；　and　for　the　moment　I　thought　he　was
merely　leaning　on　it；　tired　with　his　steep　scramble　along　the　terrace。
So　far　as　I　could　guess　from　the　abysses；　full　of　fog　on　either　side；
and　the　veiled　lights　of　red　brown　and　old　gold　glowing　through
them　now　and　again；　we　were　on　the　top　of　one　of　those　long；
consecutive；　and　genteel　rows　of　houses　which　are　still　to　be
found　lifting　their　heads　above　poorer　districts；　the　remains
of　some　rage　of　optimism　in　earlier　speculative　builders。
Probably　enough；　they　were　entirely　untenanted；　or　tenanted
only　by　such　small　clans　of　the　poor　as　gather　also　in　the　old
emptied　palaces　of　Italy。　　Indeed；　some　little　time　later；
when　the　fog　had　lifted　a　little；　I　discovered　that　we
were　walking　round　a　semi…circle　of　crescent　which　fell　away
below　us　into　one　flat　square　or　wide　street　below　another；
like　a　giant　stairway；　in　a　manner　not　unknown　in　the　eccentric
building　of　London；　and　looking　like　the　last　ledges　of　the　land。
But　a　cloud　sealed　the　giant　stairway　as　yet。

〃My　speculation　about　the　sullen　skyscape；　however；　were　interrupted
by　something　as　unexpected　as　the　moon　falling　from　the　sky。
Instead　of　my　burglar　lifting　his　hand　from　the　chimney
he　leaned　on；　he　leaned　on　it　a　little　more　heavily；　and　the　whole
chimney…pot　turned　over　like　the　opening　top　of　an　inkstand。
I　remembered　the　short　ladder　leaning　against　the　low　wall　and　felt
sure　he　had　arranged　his　criminal　approach　long　before。

〃The　collapse　of　the　big　chimney…pot　ought　to　have　been　the　culmination
of　my　chaotic　feelings；　but；　to　tell　the　truth；　it　produced　a　sudden　sense
of　comedy　and　even　of　comfort。　　I　could　not　recall　what　connected　this
abrupt　bit　of　housebreaking　with　some　quaint　but　still　kindly　fancies。
Then　I　remembered　the　delightful　and　uproarious　scenes　of　roofs　and　chimneys
in　the　harlequinades　of　my　childhood；　and　was　darkly　and　quite　irrationally
comforted　by　a　sense　of　unsubstantiality　in　the　scene；　as　if　the　houses
were　of　lath　and　paint　and　pasteboard；　and　were　only　meant　to　be　tumbled
in　and　out　of　by　policemen　and　pantaloons。　　The　law…breaking　of　my　companion
seemed　not　only　seriously　excusable；　but　even　comically　excusable。
Who　were　all　these　pompous　preposterous　people　with　their　footmen　and　their
foot…scrapers；　their　chimney…pots　and　their　chimney…pot　hats；　that　they
should　prevent　a　poor　clown　from　getting　sausages　if　he　wanted　them？
One　would　suppose　that　property　was　a　serious　thing。　　I　had　reached；
as　it　were；　a　higher　level　of　that　mountainous　and　vapourous　visions；
the　heaven　of　a　higher　levity。

〃My　guide　had　jumped　down　into　the　dark　cavity　revealed　by　the　displaced
chimney…pot。　He　must　have　landed　at　a　level　considerably　lower；　for；
tall　as　he　was；　nothing　but　his　weirdly　tousled　head　remained　visible。
Something　again　far　off；　and　yet　familiar；　pleased　me　about　this　way
of　invading　the　houses　of　men。　　I　thought　of　little　chimney…sweeps；
and　‘The　Water　Babies；'　but　I　decided　that　it　was　not　that。
Then　I　remembered　what　it　was　that　made　me　connect　such　topsy…turvy
trespass　with　ideas　quite　opposite　to　the　idea　of　crime。
Christmas　Eve；　of　course；　and　Santa　Claus　coming　down　the　chimney。

〃Almost　at　the　same　instant　the　hairy　head　disappeared　into　the　black　hole；
but　I　heard　a　voice　calling　to　me　from　below。　　A　second　or　two　afterwards；
the　hairy　head　reappeared；　it　was　dark　against　the　more　fiery　part　of　the　fog；
and　nothing　could　be　spelt　of　its　expression；　but　its　voice　called　on　me
to　follow　with　that　enthusiastic　impatience　proper　only　among　old　friends。
I　jumped　into　the　gulf；　and　as　blindly　as　Curtius；　for　I　was　still　thinking
of　Santa　Claus　and　the　traditional　virtue　of　such　vertical　entrance。

〃In　every　well…appointed　gentleman's　house；　I　reflected；　there　was
the　front　door　for　the　gentlemen；　and　the　side　door　for　the　tradesmen；
but　there　was　also　the　top　door　for　the　gods。　　The　chimney　is；
so　to　speak；　the　underground　passage　between　earth　and　heaven。
By　this　starry　tunnel　Santa　Claus　manageslike　the　skylark
to　be　true　to　the　kindred　points　of　heaven　and　home。
Nay；　owing　to　certain　conventions；　and　a　widely　distributed　lack
of　courage　for　climbing；　this　door　was；　perhaps；　little　used。
But　Santa　Claus's　door　was　really　the　front　door：
it　was　the　door　fronting　the　universe。

〃I　thought　this　as　I　groped　my　way　across　the　black　garret；　or　loft　below
the　roof；　and　scrambled　down　the　squat　ladder　that　let　us　down　into　a　yet
larger　loft　below。　　Yet　it　was　not　till　I　was　half…way　down　the　ladder　that　I
suddenly　stood　still；　and　thought　for　an　instant　of　retracing　all　my　steps；
as　my　companion　had　retraced　them　from　the　beginning　of　the　garden　wall。
The　name　of　Santa　Claus　had　suddenly　brought　me　back　to　my　senses。
I　remembered　why　Santa　Clause　came；　and　why　he　was　welcome。

〃I　was　brought　up　in　the　propertied　classes；　and　with　all
their　horror　of　offences　against　property。　　I　had　heard　all
the　regular　denunciations　of　robbery；　both　right　and　wrong；
I　had　read　the　Ten　Commandments　in　church　a　thousand　times。
And　then　and　there；　at　the　age　of　thirty…four；　half…way
down　a　ladder　in　a　dark　room　in　the　bodily　act　of　burglar；
I　saw　suddenly　for　the　first　time　that　theft；　after　all；
is　really　wrong。

〃It　was　too　late　to　turn　back；　however；　and　I　followed
the　strangely　soft　footsteps　of　my　huge　companion　across
the　lower　and　larger　loft；　till　he　knelt　down　on　a　part
of　the　bare　flooring　and；　after　a　few　fumbling　efforts；
lifted　a　sort　of　trapdoor。　　This　released　a　light　from　below；
and　we　found　ourselves　looking　down　into　a　lamp…lit　sitting　room；
of　the　sort　that　in　large　houses　often　leads　out　of　a　bedroom；
and　is　an　adjunct　to　it。　　Light　thus　breaking　from　beneath
our　feet　like　a　soundless　explosion；　showed　that　the　trapdoor
just　lifted　was　clogged　with　dust　and　rust；　and　had　doubtless
been　long　disused　until　the　advent　of　my　enterprising　friend。
But　I　did　not　look　at　this　long；　for　the　sight　of　the　shining
room　underneath　us　had　an　almost　unnatural　attractiveness。
To　enter　a　modern　interior　at　so　strange　an　angle；
by　so　forgotten　a　door；　was　an　epoch　in　one's　psychology。
It　was　like　having　found　a　fourth　dimension。

〃My　companion　dropped　from　the　aperture　into　the　room　so　suddenly
and　soundlessly；　that　I　could　do　nothing　but　follow　him；
though；　for　lack　of　practice　in　crime；　I　was　by　no　means　soundless。
Before　the　echo　of　my　boots　had　died　away；　the　big　burglar
had　gone　quickly　to　the　door；　half　opened　it；　and　stood　looking
down　the　staircase　and　listening。　　Then；　leaving　the　door
still　half　open；　he　came　back　into　the　middle　of　the　room；
and　ran　his　roving　blue　eye　round　its　furniture　and　ornament。
The　room　was　comfortably　lined　with　books　in　that　rich　and　human
way　that　makes　the　walls　seem　alive；　it　was　a　deep　and　full；
but　slovenly；　bookcase；　of　the　sort　that　is　constantly　ransacked
for　the　purposes　of　reading　in　bed。　　One　of　those　stunted
German　stoves　that　look　like　red　goblins　stood　in　a　corner；
and　a　sideboard　of　walnut　wood　with　closed　doors　in　its　lower　part。
There　were　three　windows；　high　but　narrow。　　After　another　glance　round；
my　housebreaker　plucked　the　walnut　doors　open　and　rummaged　inside。
He　found　nothing　there；　apparently；　except　an　extremely
handsome　cut…glass　decanter；　containing　what　looked　like　port。
Somehow　the　sight　of　the　thief　returning　with　this　ridiculous　little
luxury　in　his　hand　woke　within　me　once　more　all　the　revelation
and　revulsion　I　had　felt　above。

〃‘Don't　do　it！'　　I　cried　quite　incoherently；　‘Santa　Claus'

〃‘Ah；'　said　the　burglar；　as　he　put　the　decanter　on　the　table
and　stood　looking　at　me；　‘you've　thought　about　that；　too。'

〃‘I　can't　express　a　millionth　part　of　what　I've　thought　of；'　I　cried；
‘but　it's　something　like　this。。。　oh；　can't　you　see　it？　　Why　are　children
not　afraid　of　Santa　Claus；　though　he　comes　like　a　thief　in　the　night？
He　is　permitted　secrecy；　trespass；　almost　treacherybecause　there　are
more　toys　where　he　has　been。　　What　should　we　feel　if　there　were　less？
Down　what　chimney　from　hell　would　come　the　goblin　that　should　take
away　the　children's　balls　and　dolls　while　they　slept？　　Could　a　Greek
tragedy　be　more　gray　and　cruel　than　that　daybreak　and　awakening？
Dog…stealer；　horse…stealer；　man…stealercan　you　think　of　anything
so　base　as　a　toy…stealer？'

〃The　burglar；　as　if　absently；　took　a　large　revolver　from　his　pocket　and　laid
it　on　the　table　beside　the　decanter；　but　still　kept　his　blue　reflective　eyes
fixed　on　my　face。

〃‘Man！'　I　said；　‘all　stealing　is　toy…stealing。　That's　why
it's　really　wrong。　　The　goods　of　the　unhappy　children　of　men
should　be　really　respected　because　of　their　worthles